


More's The Pleasure

by MonsterParade



Category: Digimon - All Media Types
Genre: Blowjobs, Craniamon gets his brain cells sucked out through his dick, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29260257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterParade/pseuds/MonsterParade
Summary: What if you were a Royal Knight and you got a boner from sparring with me and so I sucked you off basically in public? Haha, just kidding......UNLESS?
Relationships: Craniummon | Craniamon/Original Digimon Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	More's The Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this all in one sitting late at night and I did NOT edit it, cheers!

It’s a sunny morning in the newly-reformed Digital World, and outside the Castle Yggdrasil, the training yard echoes with the sounds of battle. Craniamon stands facing Flamedramon, something like a grin on his skeletal face as he hefts his shield and training spear, the weapons’ edges dulled for sparring to prevent any nasty accidents. Across the field, Flamedramon meets his gaze, and clenches his fists inside his gauntlets in anticipation.  
  
No bell rings to signal the beginning of their fight. One moment they’re waiting, daring each other to move-- and the very next both have sprung into action, someone simply shifting their footing or squaring their shoulders and setting them both off. They meet in the middle of the field, and clash hard.  
  
“Too slow!” Flamedramon exclaims, ducking beneath the first swing of Craniamon’s training lance and sending a jab towards his unarmored stomach, which Craniamon deflects with his shield. Flamedramon’s claws skid harmlessly off the metal surface with a screech.  
  
“Fight not with your words,” Craniamon replies, mere moments before his spear finishes its rotation and catches Flamedramon in the small of his back, knocking the wind out of him, “Steel your weapons.”  
  
Tumbling to the grass, Flamedramon hits his knees, leans forward, and follows that momentum into a roll, somersaulting straight between Craniamon’s legs-- and as soon as he untucks, he lashes his tail out behind him, aiming for the backs of his knees. Craniamon has to twist to block the blow with his weapon before that heavy tail can send him to the ground. Flamedramon grins, batted away harmlessly.  
  
Again, he lunges, taking the initiative; Craniamon’s spear is still extended from his parry, so Flamedramon takes the opportunity to leap in close, using his powerful legs to launch straight from a crouching position into midair, locking his claws around the circular collar on Craniamon’s breastplate. Then he thrusts his head forward, and slams their foreheads together, the both of them protected from any real damage by their helmets. The blade on his brow sends up sparks between them.  
  
Instead of reeling back from the sudden strike, Craniamon, as sturdy and unflappable as ever, simply blinks through the sparks that burst in front of his face and then brushes Flamedramon away like he’s dusting himself off, a familiar look of adrenaline in his glowing red eyes. He stomps his foot on the ground.  
  
“You will have to do much better than that.”  
  
“It’s not my fault you’re so heavy,” Flamedramon teases back, avoiding the next jab of Craniamon’s spear as well by bending backwards hard. He nearly loses his balance, and has to do a back handspring to avoid the follow-up. “Oof! It’s like fighting a mountain!”  
  
Craniamon says nothing, only grinning with elation.  
  
This is their routine, every day, between the two of them; sparring in the early mornings, before the sun has completely risen, alone together in the pale rising light and training until their hearts are pounding. It’s exhausting, and exhilarating-- there isn’t any better way to wake up.  
  
Bracing his feet apart and lowering his head, Flamedramon rushes in again, and the hills ring with the clash of their weapons.  
  
Cold steel. Sweat. Warm sun overhead, honey-yellow, and hotter flames, burning the air around them. They fight until they’re breathless, blood singing in their heads while they circle, circle, clash again, keeping distance and feigning jabs until it’s almost more like a tease than a battle. They’re both aching with bruises as the sun climbs in the sky, dawn gradually turning to day, and neither wants to give an inch lest it end their playtime.  
  
Eventually, though, it must draw to a close.  
  
All it takes is one slip-up; one misstep on Flamedramon’s part; he misjudges Craniamon’s speed, as he always does, getting too pleased with his own agility, and comes in too close too fast. He can’t change directions fast enough to avoid Craniamon’s responding lunge, and the latter’s shield hits him like a battering ram in the midriff, bringing him to a dead stop. Flamedramon wheezes, sent crashing backwards ass-over-teakettle as Craniamon gives him a shove, and then Flamedramon is left staring dizzily up at the sky until a pair of clawed feet stamp themselves into the ground on either side of his head, a dark shadow falling over him and Craniamon’s pleased expression blocking out the sun. The dulled tip of his spear comes to rest in the hollow of Flamedramon’s throat.  
  
“Do you relent?” Craniamon asks, sounding as close to smug as he ever gets. Breathless, Flamedramon tries to laugh and has to cough instead, his tail tip wagging where it’s squashed underneath him.  
  
“I relent! I relent. The match is yours.”  
  
With a gentle tap under the chin from the end of his spear, Craniamon withdraws from their tussling and steps away. Flamedramon keeps giggling until his partner extends his hand, weapons now tossed carelessly aside, and helps him back to his feet, holding him steady. Nothing feels broken, but he knows he’ll have a _hell_ of a bruise tomorrow.  
  
“It was a worthy battle,” Craniamon tells him, although they both know he wasn’t trying quite as hard as he could have been. Flamedramon only gives him a bashful dip of his head in reply, finally relaxing his stance and raising his arms to stretch.  
  
“You hit like a Locomon,” Flamedramon grunts, rubbing his midsection where it’s tender and sore from Craniamon’s battering ram. “If I can’t walk tomorrow, it’ll be your fault.”  
  
Craniamon dusts himself off. “You knew the risks. You’re stronger than that.”  
  
Flamedramon shrugs and chuckles, shaking his head. It’s true; this isn’t the first big hit he’s taken in these circumstances, and it certainly won’t be the last.  
  
“What does that put us at?” Flamedramon asks, beginning to undo the straps on his knee guards and dropping his gauntlets.  
  
“Eleven to two, for this month,” Craniamon replies. Flamedramon snorts loudly.  
  
“I’m never going to catch up with you at this rate!”  
  
Craniamon doesn’t attempt to disagree or otherwise reassure him. He only shrugs, grunting non-committally, slowly dropping to one knee so he can lower himself to sit on the ground. He’s always honest about his own strength; and it’s something that Flamedramon can’t help but find charming, even if sometimes it stings his pride a bit.  
  
“You doing okay?” Flamedramon asks him, taking a seat beside him with his legs stretched out and leaning back onto his hands. Craniamon doesn’t look at him, his eyes closed and face raised to the sky instead.  
  
“Of course. It was only a warm-up.”  
  
Flamedramon snorts again, smiling to himself. Breathing hard, still recovering, the two of them sit together for a few minutes in companionable silence as they listen to the Digital World begin to stir around them in the distance, its denizens finally beginning to wake. Flamedramon licks his lips, and eventually looks over again. Craniamon is sitting stiffly, his legs held strangely, half-bent, and it doesn’t take much for Flamedramon to be able to guess the reason for it (something which brings him endless delight). He knows his partner _very_ well, after all.  
  
“...That was a _good_ battle, huh?” he asks, faux-sympathetically, with a smile on his face. He tilts his head a little, giving Craniamon a pointed look; a look which Craniamon pretends not to see, although Flamedramon can see a very faint blush gathering on the dark metal of his face. Flamedramon chuckles delightedly. In that case-- what a perfect way to wind down the morning.  
  
“Craniamon?” he prompts again, scooting over to him until he’s close enough their legs are pressed together, which prompts Craniamon to look away even harder as if he’s suddenly gone deaf. Flamedramon looks down, knowing what he’ll find, and sees the tell-tale bulge tenting his partner’s loincloth from beneath, which only elicits more giggling from him. “Don’t be embarrassed! Do you want me to take care of that for you...?”

Again, Craniamon is silent-- and, if it were anyone else, Flamedramon would take the hint and drop the subject, not the type to push his partners. But Craniamon is very...particular, and they’ve been over this sort of thing before; it’s the fact that he doesn’t immediately strike the idea down that is itself _very_ telling.  
  
“...Someone will see us.” Craniamon eventually says, his voice low like someone might be around to hear him. He glances at Flamedramon out of the corner of his eye. “It wouldn’t be proper...”  
  
Flamedramon leans against him a little more, doing his best to give him an encouraging look.  
  
“No one will see us! The grass is tall, and I’ll lie down on my belly-- I’ll just duck under your cloth and help you out real quick! Or, I mean...we _could_ go back to the castle, but then you’d have to walk all the way back to your room trying to hide... _that,”_ Flamedramon points out, and nods meaningfully towards the tent between Craniamon’s legs, which even seems to stiffen a little more under his gaze. Flamedramon can’t help but grin, squeezing Craniamon’s bicep coaxingly.  
  
It takes a long minute of silence, but eventually, Craniamon closes his eyes and nods. “You are going to make a fool out of me,” he scolds Flamedramon, although he shifts his legs apart without being asked and cracks open one eye, blushing hard. Flamedramon beams at him and wags his tail, immediately crawling over to reposition himself.  
  
“It’s your fault for making me fall in love with you in the first place,” Flamedramon teasingly replies, tapping his claws on Craniamon’s hips. “Can you kneel?”  
  
Hissing out an embarrassed breath between his teeth, Craniamon slowly complies. And with the great knight on his knees, Flamedramon is given more room to work; room enough to crawl forward on his hands and knees, ducking underneath the fabric of his loincloth to feel for him. And it’s _exciting_ , like this, as he brushes his claws along the insides of Craniamon’s thighs just to make him go tense-- they’ve never done anything like this _outside_ before, and the idea that someone might see them has his heart pounding hard, anxiety and anticipation both at once.  
  
“Oh, my gosh-- is that for _me?”_ Flamedramon asks, pressing his palm to the side of Craniamon’s length, feeling the heat and the heft of it where it’s half-pinned to his leg inside the purple tights he wears. Craniamon groans above him, both from the contact and the mortification of the situation.  
  
“Flamedramon,” he warns him, and Flamedramon just laughs, too excited himself to bother with much teasing. Instead, he squirms in close and wedges his narrow muzzle between his legs, pressing his lips to the head of him and licking him once through the cloth.  
  
As such a fiery Digimon, his mouth is always hot, and he knows it-- Craniamon nearly jumps at that first contact, grunting like he’s been struck, and parts his muscular thighs further as Flamedramon mouths at him through the fabric, careful of his fangs. It’s a temptation to just tear his tights instead of having to take the time to pull him out...and, really, why _not_ , this time? They’re already breaking the rules, so what’s a little shredded clothing on top of that?  
  
Flamedramon strokes Craniamon through his tights as he searches for loose fabric, keeping him distracted by the gentle pressure-- and then, once he finds it, he takes that fabric between his teeth and _tears,_ the shock of the ripping sound and the air hitting his cock drawing the first actual sound out of Craniamon.  
  
_“Flamedramon!”_ he exclaims again, his hand closing around the end of Flamedramon’s tail as if he intends to pull him away by it. He doesn’t, though, only hesitates, and Flamedramon grins to himself where he’s hidden under his loincloth and pulls his length free through the rip, half-hard in his hand.  
  
“Don’t worry about it! Your cloth hides everything. Just keep a lookout for the other Knights, alright?”  
  
He expects that reminder of getting caught to keep Craniamon occupied, which it does-- but to his surprise, it seems to _interest_ him more than he’s been letting on, too, because his cock twitches noticeably against his palm as Flamedramon says it, thick and hard.  
  
_Oho_. You learn something new every day.  
  
Flamedramon takes just a moment to allow himself a smirk and file that teasing material away for later, and then he opens his mouth and takes Craniamon in, letting just the head slip past his lips to rest on his tongue. Immediately, Craniamon gasps and then tries to play it off, forcing himself to cough instead to try and hide the sound. Flamedramon knows him way too well to be fooled by it, though, and the noise just makes him smile around his cock and gently start to bob his head, easing him into it. As always, Flamedramon can’t get enough; he loves how heavy Craniamon’s cock is in his mouth, the way it stiffens as he sinks down on it, his jaw aching almost right away from the sheer girth of him.  
  
He laps at the tip of it with his tongue, slow and sweet, and huffs happily as he feels Craniamon squeeze the end of his tail in response. With gentle suction and coaxing hands, it doesn’t take long to work Craniamon to full mast. And despite his earlier insistence, Flamedramon is pretty sure the two of them are quite conspicuous; Craniamon’s massive figure and dark armor stand out sharply in the green grass, and with the grip the knight has on his tail, Flamedramon’s rear end is raised higher than would allow for subtlety, a fact which Craniamon hasn’t seemed to remember yet. More’s the pleasure.  
  
“Hurry,” Craniamon urges him quietly, his voice as tense as his legs are as Flamedramon swirls his tongue around him. The dramon only flicks his tail at him.  
  
So _what_ if someone sees them, honestly? The other Knights all know the two of them are an item-- and, sure, Omegamon and Alphamon will _certainly_ chastise them for getting up to such things in full view of the castle, but isn’t that danger part of the fun?  
  
Pleased with himself, Flamedramon splays his hands on the insides of Craniamon’s thighs and rubs soothing circles to relax him, bobbing his head again. His body is still sore from their battle only a few minutes prior, and this position makes his shoulders hurt-- and that reminder of his lover’s strength only turns him on more, making him feel warm and tingly with pleasure and pride. Flamedramon opens his mouth wide and sinks down as far as he can, his eyes beginning to water, and is rewarded by the shaky moan he hears Craniamon trying to muffle as his cock hits the back of his throat, Flamedramon’s muzzle pressed flat to the base of it.  
  
Craniamon doesn’t seem to have any complaints anymore. He’s only huffing, breathing hard, careful not to buck forward despite his twitching hips while Flamedramon swallows around him, pulls back to breathe, and then ducks back in again. _This_ is the rhythm that Flamedramon likes. This near-silence, this foggy-headed mutual pleasure, of aching jaws and twitching cock and the faint alarm of having his throat so stuffed full of his lover’s shaft. It’s even worth it when he chokes, even though he has to pull backwards and off of him with a _‘pop’,_ because Craniamon makes such a pitiful sound about the loss of his mouth that Flamedramon just wants to kiss him.  
  
“Are you okay?” Flamedramon whispers, taking a minute to breathe and stroking Craniamon’s cock in both hands in the meanwhile. Craniamon trembles under the attention, the warm morning air almost cool compared to the heat of Flamedramon’s mouth, and a bead of fluid wells up at the head of his shaft, rolling down the underside of it to add to the slick. Craniamon grunts through gritted teeth, shifting a little.  
  
“Fine,” he groans, leaning forward on his knees and hunching over Flamedramon a little more. He strokes along his tail, his lower back, trying to both encourage him and show his gratitude, and Flamedramon spreads his legs on reflex, uncaring that his wet slit might be on display for anyone else watching too. “Are you?” Craniamon adds, always the courteous one. Flamedramon nods before he remembers Craniamon can’t really see him, and then chuckles.  
  
“I’m just _wonderful_ ,” he assures him, before he takes him back into his mouth again. Lovingly, he sucks at the tip, rolling his tongue around it until Craniamon’s legs are shaking, and then he eases the pressure and pushes his length back down into his throat to simply hold him there. He can’t breathe that way, but he _loves_ it, bobbing back and forth in increments and swallowing around him as best he can.  
  
Craniamon won’t last much longer, he can tell; he recognizes the harshness of his breathing, the way more and more sounds are being gasped into the air, the way his gloved fingers grasping at any part of Flamedramon he can reach. It’s always exhilarating to get him to this point.  
  
Unable to speak, Flamedramon pulls back far enough to make an inquisitive humming sound, and to his surprise he feels Craniamon’s hand come down on the back of his head and try to urge him back down. Flamedramon’s heart skips a beat, his own body burning with arousal.  
  
“I’m almost--” Craniamon warns him, his voice very clipped and strained. “ _Almost_. Would you-- I need-- please.”  
  
Mouth thoroughly occupied, Flamedramon smooths his hands along Craniamon’s thighs adoringly and lets him guide his head, just doing his best to keep his mouth open and not choke. Craniamon is always polite, even now-- he doesn’t fuck his mouth, even though he could, and he shivers like he wants to. He’s cautious of his pace and his own strength, and of Flamedramon’s limits, and when he rolls his hips it’s slow and careful, his cock just brushing the back of Flamedramon’s throat and then pulling almost all the way back to his lips. Flamedramon just leans into it, wanting more from him, soaking wet and aching.  
  
“Yes,” Craniamon grunts, his breath catching as Flamedramon sucks him hard, “ _Ah_ \-- _yes_. A little more... _Flamedramon_. I’m-- about to--”  
  
His hands twitch, unsteady, and then he lets go, inviting Flamedramon to pull free; warning him of what’s coming, rock-hard in his mouth and teetering on the edge. Flamedramon can almost see him-- he knows his head is probably tipped back, eyes closed tightly like they always are, a dark flush high on his face from pleasure.  
  
So Flamedramon doesn’t pull away. He wraps his arms around Craniamon’s hips instead, pulling himself to him, _holding_ him there, and bobs his head as fast as he can while minding his sharp teeth, keeping the pace while Craniamon finally starts to shake to pieces above him. Craniamon has never been the noisy sort, and when he finally cums, as always, it’s with such a low moan that it almost gets lost in the wind; breathless and euphoric, his whole body twitching and trembling as his release spills onto the back of Flamedramon’s tongue, thick and hot. Flamedramon, for his part, swallows it happily, drawing out Craniamon’s pleasure for as long as he can with little flicks of his tongue, his tail lashing with excitement. He doesn’t let go or let up or gentle himself until Craniamon is gasping, legs jerking as he tries to push him away. And then, and only then, does he finally slow to a stop, drawing back slowly and letting the weight of his cock linger on his tongue until at last he pulls off of him with a satisfied hum.  
  
He pulls himself out from under Craniamon’s loincloth and sits back on his heels to look up at him. And, _oh_ , poetry. Craniamon is as flushed and wide-eyed and shaky as Flamedramon has ever seen him, looking thoroughly wrecked and almost shocked by his own drawn-out climax. His red eyes are unfocused, his limbs slack, and after a moment he meets Flamedramon’s gaze and gives him a disbelieving look, blushing a deep violet.  
  
Flamedramon beams at him with adoration and just sprawls back into the grass beside him, teary-eyed, flushed, and immensely satisfied, already planning how to do it again tomorrow.

  
  



End file.
